


Devils in the Dark

by DarkmoonSigel



Series: The Notes Played In Between [37]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Dark Will Graham, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Mental Institutions, Murder Husbands, Sassy Will, Serial Killers, Will is so not taking any of his shit, so I wrote a second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having encephalitis and brutally murdering a serial killer who tried to kill his dogs, Will Graham finds himself in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Life is dull until the Chesapeake Ripper is brought down to the lower levels to live in a cell beside Will.<br/>Not Beta Read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.  
> Yes, I am still reeling from the finale. Let me just huddle under my shock blanket in peace.  
> Not Beta Read.

When he was brought in with all the fanfare, Will didn’t see the newest lifer at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, not really from where he sat on his bunk with his head in his hands. Supposedly, the new guy was the real deal, the true Chesapeake Ripper. Considering Gideon and himself had already been accused and investigated under the same name, Will was more than a little skeptical.

The guy must have done something to piss someone off or scare it out of them. They had him trussed up in a straightjacket and strapped down to a gurney so he had to be rolled in. It was overkill in Will’s opinion considering the man’s hands and legs were shackled. There was even a mask over his face. Yay, just what they needed. A biter.

Turning away unimpressed by the spectacle to lay out on the bunk, Will reasoned that Chilton must really love his drama and attention. He wanted to be someone’s media darling that was for damn sure, always ready to whore out a dog and pony show of psychiatry to anyone who would give him a hot second. 

Tending to live in his own head to cope with his dull living arrangements, Will didn’t give his new neighbor much thought. During the next few weeks of monotony that followed, the most he observed was that the man certainly was popular, getting more that his fair share of visitors and lookie loos. Chilton loved to show off his collection of freaks and monstrosities. The new influx of people gave Miggs new targets to mark and Gideon to snark at so there was never a dull moment. On his part, Will ignored them all so people usually lost interest in him pretty quickly. The ones that tried to provoke him got told something horrifyingly true about themselves. It left them a little cracked, if not broken. 

For all his sins, proven and not, Will was here because the system didn’t know what to do with him. He had been deemed too damaged and dangerous to be released back into the wild. That and Chilton thought Will was far too valuable to give up on just yet. 

Being a loner due to his extreme empathy, Will was without any real friends or family to protest his imprisonment so Will was stuck in a limbo of sorts. He figured it was for the best. He knew he was a dangerous man after all, even if others were still scrambling for hard evidence of further misdeeds to prove it. The only secret he held onto about that was to what extent. 

The encephalitis had done terrible things to him before anyone noticed or done anything about it. It took Will brutally killing a man, more or less in self defense, for anyone to render aid. Prosecutors, judges, and the media tended to want someone alive on the stand to condemn. When the wrong people had noticed him while he was getting help, Will awoke from his sickness to fine himself here in his own personal circle of hell, cast as the Chesapeake Ripper thanks to Freddie Lounds and her speculations. Needless to say, the real Chesapeake Ripper had not been pleased about that. The infamous serial killer had taken it upon himself to do everything in his power to convince the FBI of their folly. 

That being said, Will still had a corpse cut up in his freezer though so that counted for something. Now admittedly, the fact it was another serial killer threw a monkey wrench in the works, one wanted for brutal animalistic murders. No one could decide if that worked for or against Will. 

Hell, even Will couldn’t make up his mind up on that one. 

In the end, the only reason Will even bothered to acknowledge his neighbor was when he was irritated into action. 

OoOoO

The television was back on, fire and brimstone pouring forth from the high quality speakers at full volume. The preacher’s voice was beginning to scare the fish.

Sighing, Will slipped back into the here and now, leaving his stream behind for a better day. For whatever reason, the Chesapeake Ripper had pissed Chilton off again. The televangelist programming was Chilton’s petty way of punishing the Ripper for not wanting to be a willing participant to his brand of therapy. Not that Will could blame him. Despite other people’s opinions on the matter, being insane didn’t mean you were stupid. Having already gone through his own trails and tribulations with Chilton, Will knew what kind of banality the Ripper was in for. His solitude had been hard won. 

The problem was that this sort of thing affected everyone else in the cell block, not just the Ripper. Miggs was currently chanting himself hoarse in a corner of his cell while Gideon yelled at him to shut the hell up. That or he was demanding drugs, lots of them, so he could skip being saved. Having a God fearing Southern upbringing under his belt, Will generally had the patience to ignore it, and the ability to fall asleep during sermons with little effort. 

Today was the exception it would seem, the preacher’s annoying voice wheedling its way under Will’s skin to give life to a headache right behind his eyes. It was enough to make Will notice that he had a visitor of his own. It was even more surprising to find he recognized the man.

“I’m Special Agent Jack Crawford. I lead the Behavioral Science Unit.” said the austere older man in the nice suit by way of greeting. 

“We’ve met.” Will grumped at the agent. The man obviously hadn’t intended to bring that up, at least not immediately. 

“Yes. We had a disagreement about the museum when it opened.” Crawford smiled, looking like a man who wanted to smooth things over so that he could get onto his main agenda. Before he did that though, he was trying to feel Will out, get a gauge on him. It left Will wondered what the hell an FBI agent wanted with him. People had rarely wanted to talk to him when he had been perceived as sane. 

“Not with the museum itself. I disagreed with what you named it.” Will sighed, already put out. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do at the moment, but if he asked nicely, he could probably get a nurse to load him up with something that would make him hear pretty colors and taste sound for a while. 

“The Evil Minds Research Museum?” Crawford looked as if he was trying to bite back a smile. The man liked his directedness. 

“It’s a little hammy, Jack.” Will didn’t disappoint. “Now, do you want to tell me what you’re doing here and get this over with?”

“Where did you go…before?” Jack said, ignoring the question to motion to Will’s head. The agent still wanted to test him. He wanted to know what kind of crazy Will was.

“Does it matter? I’m not going anywhere.” Will shrugged, losing interest and making it obvious on his face. He had an ability that chipped away at his mind if he let it, but he was as sane as the next person, present company excluded of course. He didn’t have to take this shit.

“I’m told you have a peculiar way of thinking.” Crawford said. Will could tell that the agent was coming to a decision about him, one that would probably not work in Will’s favor. He wondered if Chilton had signed him up for a study or something.

“So I’ve been told.” Will said, tapping his knuckles against the stone walls of his cells as he started to walk away. He couldn’t go far, but he could put a little bit of space between himself and Jack. 

“I’m here because you can empathize with killers.” Crawford getting to his point sooner than Will thought he would. Apparently, it was something important. Will could tell by the file Crawford held in his hand. He wondered if it was his own, though probably not. It was far too thin. 

“I am empathize with anyone, not just killers.” Will corrected. It was irritating that people tended to just remember that part of his personality. They never seemed to recall that he recycled, was a bit of a bookworm, and liked to collect dog figurines. “I have an active imagination.”

Jack leaned in as if he were about to whisper a secret to Will through the bars. “Can I borrow your imagination?” the agent asked.

“Excuse me?” Will was startled enough by the question to give Crawford his full attention again, turning back to look at the agent. 

“I want you to help me with a profile.” Crawford said, raising his hand to shake the file at Will like that was going to entice him to come over and take a look at it. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong. I haven’t been employed by the FBI since my incarceration, but when I was a teacher there, I seem to remember that they frown upon getting consults from the criminally insane.” Will smiled, though the expression was far from amused or friendly. 

“Not when we’re desperate.” Crawford’s demeanor was beginning to turn positively grim. Will wondered what kind of case would drive an FBI agent to seek him out here of all places. “Bad luck that you’re the best.”

“And isn’t that tragic. Look where it got me.” Will laughed, the noise of it choked out and rough. “Go away. Go away before I tell you something unfortunate and completely true about yourself.”

“I just want you to take a look. Tell me what you see, what you think. That’s all.” Crawford pressed, even going so far to hold out the file between the bars. Chilton wouldn’t be happy about that. He liked to monitor everything, and anything, especially reading material, that was passed into their cells. That was a good enough reason in and of itself for Will to take the file from Agent Crawford. 

Unsurprisingly, it was full of pictures. Will had a small wish that one day someone would give him something that didn’t have a corpse as its point of focus. Will rifled through, seeing enough of it to get a very good idea. Not that he told Crawford that. Trying to get in the right headspace for the full scope of it was not happening though, Will opening his eyes with a sigh to glare at the televangelist. 

“I’m sorry you wasted your time coming down here.” Will said, taking to his bunk to lie down on it and wrap his arms around his head to better block out the noise. He kept the file to see what Jack planned on doing to get it back.

“Of course, I’m not asking for a free consult. I could do you a favor or two.” Will heard Jack say before he was blessed with silence. It really was golden, Will mused as he let out a sigh of relief. 

Sitting up, Will took in the sight of rage, fresh and raw, but not directed at him. Jack was wheeling the television away, but he was definitely letting Will’s famous neighbor it was not for his benefit. Obviously, the agent and the Ripper had some history.

While Crawford took a moment to compose himself, Will considered telling the agent to fuck off as hard as he could. Nothing good could come of this. The agent saw him as a tool, a means to an end. When Will was all used up by the FBI, he would be left here to rot. Messing with Chilton was a top priority of Will’s though. Crawford taking away one of Chilton’s favorite tools of torture could be fun. Will lived for the sour look the man wore on his face after being denied his fun. 

“Well, it is not in the FBI’s best interests if I have to work in a hostile environment.” Will conceded as he made a show of reopening the case file to spread out the pictures on his bunk. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Crawford said as he wheeled out the television with him. The cell block breathed a mutual sigh of relief when the door slammed shut behind the agent. 

“Thank fuck.” Gideon said. “Anything of interest, Mr. Graham?”

“Nothing you would like unless you‘re into waterlogged corpses that look like they have been shellacked.” Will called back. Sometimes he and Gideon talked. There was really nothing else to do. Gideon was seven buckets of florescent crazy paint with all the trimming of violence to go along with it, but he could be entertaining from time to time. 

“You’re right. I prefer mine fresh.” Gideon chuckled before he launched into another rant at Miggs who was jacking off again now that he had some ‘me time‘ in his head. The only perk about the televangelist was that loud reminders of damnation killed Migg’s libido. 

“Thank you.” was spoken so softly by an accented voice Will almost missed it. The unfamiliar tone of it seeped through the wall, coming only from one person considering there was only four of them down here. Miggs babbled, Gideon snarked, but this person’s voice was deceptive calm, pleasant even. 

“I didn’t do it for you. I was sick of Chilton punishing us all for your trespasses against him.” Will said, pressing his back to the wall. He told himself it was not to better hear the killer in the next cell whisper to him.

“Nevertheless, thank you.” said the Chesapeake Ripper, the real one. Will thought it was the kind of voice that could persuade you to keep talking even when you knew it was a really bad idea. 

“Well…um…you’re welcome?” came out more like a question, Will suddenly unsure of what he was doing. “Look…if you want to piss Chilton off, I’m all for it. Just pick a different method to the madness. Treat him like hired help. Poorly trained hired help that you have chosen against your better judgment to put up with instead of firing him. Like you are doing him a favor by being here.”

Will continued when he was met with silence. It wasn’t the cold empty sort of disinterest. It was the kind where the other person was simply waiting for more input. “You already get more mail than him, so treat him like your secretary. It will drive him nuts that his peers value the opinion of a sadistic serial killer over his own, if it doesn’t’ already. 

“I will take that into consideration.” the voice said thoughtfully.

“Just so I know I’m not crazy and you’re not a voice in my head or the meds kicking in, what’s your name?” Will asked.

“You don’t know?” The Ripper sounded miffed enough to make Will smother a chuckle into the back of his hands.

“Being doped up to your eyeballs half the time makes keeping track of names troublesome.” Will rolled his eyes, not expecting an answer after that admission. 

“Doctor Hannibal Lecter. You may call me Hannibal though if you like.” the Ripper offered up his name like it was a boon being placed at Will’s feet.

“Hannibal the cannibal?” Will said out loud before he could think better of it. He was met with an offended silence, similar to that of a slighted cat. “Ok, I’ll choose to believe you’re real cause that is too ridiculous not to be.”

Will was answered in more silence, the cold kind of offended parties that turned people into tacos for fun. “Don’t get all murderous about it. My name rhymes with kill. That hardly works in my favor either.”

“Will?” was guessed correctly in a cold tone.

“William Graham, Will for short and preferred, at your service. As limited as that may be.” the former profiler and teacher said, keeping his own tone light. He wasn’t trying to make a new enemy, and Hannibal had a pleasant speaking voice. It might be nice to have a conversation every once in a while where he didn’t have to shout.

“I’ve read about you. They thought you were the Ripper for a time.” Hannibal said, sounding engaged again much to Will‘s surprise and delight. He ignored the fact that he was getting happy about a serial killer talking to him.

“For a hot second, yes, but then so did Gideon. You’d think they would be sick of trying to convict people with that name.” Will smiled warily, bearing in mind he was supposedly talking to the real deal. “From what I hear, they even considered Chilton for it until some of his old classmates from medical school laughed their asses off. Apparently, Chilton got into psychology because he was abysmal at surgery.”

“Nothing much has changed.”

Yes, he is rather obvious and heavy handed at it, don’t you think?” Will chuckled. “You do know he’s listening in on us right now.”

“I’m counting on it.”


	2. sure, why not. here's another chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal are happy murder husbands together and no one can tell me different.  
> Not beta read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I'm in deep denial of the finale at the moment so I wrote this cause murder husbands made me do it. Or insomnia. Let's blame insomnia. Or whiskey. Lots of whiskey.  
> So long story short, you get another chapter cause fuck hiatus.  
> Not beta read cause I am a terrible person, lacking responsibility. And puppies. I have no puppies.

To screw with Chilton, they started speaking to one another in French. Will’s version of it was rough from lack of use and origin, the Cajun sounding almost vulgar comparatively to Hannibal’s own polished version of the language. Hannibal seemed to take great satisfaction in improving upon Will’s dialect though so they kept with it until the language of love could flow off their respective tongues with ease. 

In the course of their conversations, it was discovered that Will could speak better Spanish than Hannibal, his urban lingo fair more current due to his former professions, something that Will gloated openly about. That simply didn’t sit well with Hannibal of course, so they switched off until both were fluent, satisfied, and could tell people who annoyed them to fuck off in colorful ways. To his delight, Hannibal discovered that Will had a talent for languages in general as well as accents so he launched into teaching Will Italian with little hesitation. Normally Will would have been resistant to someone trying to change him whether it was for the better or not, but since there was little else to do, Will allowed it. 

That and Hannibal could be very persuasive. If Will didn’t interceded, Miggs would have killed himself several times over. In his defense, it wasn’t because Will had any love for the masturbating loon, he just didn’t believe one should convince others to commit suicide to alleviate their boredom. The bizarre outcome to that was a game of wit and philosophy between Hannibal and Will who played the roles of God and the Devil. Hannibal would wickedly whisper to Miggs, telling him to end it all, and with a serenity that he never knew he had, Will would convince the man to step away from the edge of infinity. Gideon thought it was all in great fun though he was always disappointed when Will technically won, Miggs living to smack the monkey another day. It was almost enough to make Will reconsider his position.

Once Hannibal was confident Will had a secure grasp on all three languages, they began to mix French, Italian, and Spanish together seamlessly so it was harder for other, name Chilton, to follow and translate. Chilton fumed about it in private or at least tried to. He found it rather hard to hide anything now that Hannibal and Will started to tag team him. Where one man left off in eviscerating observation, the other simply picked up, like the pair shared the same headspace. Their visitors, few and far between as they were, found it particularly disconcerting, though Freddie Lounds held the record for lasting the longest.

It was when Hannibal started to teach Will Lithuanian and Japanese Chilton got fed up enough to take action, and move Will to a completely different level. That proved to be a welcome mistake. Security was more lax there. It was the easiest thing in the world for Will to neatly break a guard’s neck and don the man’s uniform with all its pass cards and keys attached to it. As he dressed quickly, Will was thankful that it was Barney’s day off. The older black man who tended to watch over their cellblock had a gentle touch and had always been kindly polite to people who really didn’t deserve it. 

An unexpected ally served Will well, a nurse doing his part to aid in this impromptu escape effort. Matthew Brown was a fan of Will’s work, though he gave far more credit than where credit was due. It hardly mattered to Will, the strangely obsessed man doing more than his fair share by ruining the security system so that Will walked in and out of wards like a ghost. In Will’s opinion, it was really Chilton’s own fault for not doing a better background check on his employees. Will gave Matthew the dead guard as a parting gift, telling him to put it somewhere, and tried not to visibly cringe at the gleeful look in Matthew’s eyes like Will was Father Christmas. Will got the bad feeling that the guard was going to be displayed rather gruesomely somewhere to be found soon enough by some poor person who would need a lot of time off afterward. 

A quick shave and a buzz cut later made Will almost unrecognizable to himself and others, the man taking a page from Superman’s book by going all incognito as Clark Kent with a spare pair of reading glasses and a clean cut look. Being an empath helped as well, the man mimicking the body language of a bored, slightly put out guard flawlessly down to the rolling, flat footed walk and tired slump of shoulders. It also didn’t hurt that Chilton was more focused on himself than efficiently running a medical facility. With a tepid cup of coffee in hand and a bored expression on his face that proclaimed he had a severe case of the Mondays, Will used normalcy to sequestered himself back down to the bowels of a manmade hell to release devils from their cells. 

“Hello, Mister Graham. You’re looking particularly dashing today, but you know what they say about a man in uniform.” Gideon grinned as his door was swung open. “Is that a baton or are you just happy to see me?”

“Try not to make too much a mess of things before leaving here.” Will sighed. Letting Gideon go was like opening a bag of rabid weasels. It would be good distraction, but there was always the danger of being bit in the ass.

“I don’t suppose you have anything sharp I could borrow?” Gideon said as he stretched. He was a different sort of predator than what Will or even Hannibal was, but he was quite dangerous in his own right. Gideon had a bad tendency to forgot who he was and imitate other people. Will didn’t want to see a version of himself being worn by the man.

“I might. Who do you intend to use it on?” Will answer carefully. He had picked up plenty of weapons along his way here. It was amazing what people just left lying around in a mental hospital.

“I plan on castrating Miggs, and then looking dear Frederick up. We haven’t had a session in a long while. He never calls, he never writes. It’s terribly depressing. I’ve been fucked over, and I’m tired of feeling as used as an unpaid two dollar whore.” Gideon drawled, already holding his hand out for whatever weapon Will planned on blessing him with. He didn’t disappoint, Will gifting the madman with a rather large pair of scissors he had procured along the way, the tool made of heavy metal and basic in design. 

“Crude but effective. I’ll make do.” Gideon grinned, enjoying the weight of the iron in his hand. They walked together to Migg’s cell, its sole occupant screeching unintelligibly as a howler monkey at them. Will didn’t stay to watch though, and he was done with games. He had other things on his mind, namely the resident of the last cell in the row.

Will hadn’t known what to except. He had never been one for the news or tabloids or people who were still breathing in general before his incarceration. Apparently if he had bothered to pay attention to Baltimore’s more prominent newspapers, he might have seen a picture of Hannibal from time to time in the arts section. The man had a deep love for opera and fucking with the elite, his favorite trick to play upon them was throwing lavish dinner parties and feeding his sounder of victims to the ignorant wealthy. 

The monster pretending to be a man sat regally in his cell, somehow managing to pull off the issued jumpsuit like it was this season’s latest. He was older than Will expected, his brown hair graying from tones of golden wheat to bright silver. His bearing was still impressive though, with intense maroon eyes and cheekbones sharp enough Will wanted to press his lips to them to learn their angles intimately. 

“You’re not what I expected.” Hannibal voiced their shared thought. The voice matched the body it came from. Poise, elegant, and somehow utterly inhuman. 

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Will licked his lips, his eyes following Hannibal’s attention to the gesture. The human veil gave nothing back yet Will could discern that whatever Hannibal was, it was intrigued with Will, by his abilities and voice alone at first. Now that Hannibal had seen Will, that curiosity was taking on a life of its own, manifesting into something completely unexpected. 

“I never said I was disappointed. Far from it. I just envisioned you differently is all. The reality of you makes my previous assessment pale in comparison though.“ Hannibal openly studied Will like he half expected him to disappear, and Will let him. Apparently, the monster in its cage liked what it saw, a beast finding its beauty. 

“Don’t get used to it. I’m not usually so clean cut. Improvising was called for. We all wear our masks.” Will said by way of apology as he ran a quick hand over his face and coarsely cropped hair. He knew he looked younger than his years, his face retaining its boyish qualities especially now that all his scruff was gone. 

“We all do.” Hannibal said, making no move toward his cell door. Neither did Will for that matter. They kept to their positions like they had all the time in the world to make small talk and stare at each other. In the background, Miggs screamed as his meat was brutally taken from him in small snips. He had kept Gideon up too many nights in a row, chanting to himself as he worked his length over with spit and old cum. Gideon was going to take his time letting Miggs know just how much he had not appreciated that. It was a shrill constant sound, but ignorable. 

“Some better than others, but I see the cracks in yours, what lies beneath.” Will mused, titling his head back like he was actually trying to peek through the stitching and fractures in the lacquer. 

Hannibal rose from his bunk then, the movements graceful and fluid as a dancer’s own. Hannibal had not idle in his cell, letting his body go to waste like some people would have. His middle still carried some softness from his former life, but the rest of him was lean and hard, holding a menace and a potential for true violence about it. Will knew his pupils were dilating as Hannibal drew close, Will mirroring his movements step for step.

“What do you bear witness to when you look at me?” Hannibal asked, close enough now to the glass his breathing produced condensation. Will could tell he was scenting the air, remembering belated that Hannibal had told him about his sensitive sense of smell. 

“Quid pro quo, doctor. I tell you what I see. You tell me what you smell. Does that sound fair to you?” Will offered up, moving in so that he could fog up the glass as well. He wanted to do more than just smell Hannibal. He wanted to taste that tanned skin losing its golden tones down here in the dark, lick his way past thin lips to run his tongue over a cannibal’s teeth and test their sharpness. 

“You smell of petrichor, the scent of rain striking earth, of unsettled dust opening up to life giving sustenance. The odors of iron and ozone cling to you as well, mingled with the more mundane scents of sweat and chemicals most humans stink of.” Hannibal sighed out the description as he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “You are the coming storm caught in a butterfly net of feverish flesh and blood.”

“That is some disturbing imagery. You make me sound almost beautiful despite it all.” Will said, resisting to urge to sniff at his stolen clothing. Instead he leaned up against the glass to give the man on the other side a better whiff. 

“Almost beautiful? Hardly.” Hannibal said as he ran his tongue over his teeth before sucking his bottom lip. Will could tell it was a habitual gesture whether Hannibal admitted to it or not. It was also one saturated with hunger in one form or another. “You are exquisite. I will bathe you in milk and honey to remove the foul stench of mundane from your pores.”

“Kinky. We haven’t even had dinner yet, and you already have me naked in your mind.” Will teased, letting the tip of his tongue flick out to touch the glass. He wondered if Hannibal could smell arousal and what that smelled like. 

“Would you still dine with me, knowing what I am and who I serve up as the main course?” Hannibal asked, his strange maroon gleaming with pinpoints of scarlet. They looked like blood sprayed over fertile earth and Will couldn’t tear his stormy own away even if he wanted to. 

“Some people deserve to be bacon and others art. I am well aware of your design, though I’m still learning to appreciate the finer details of it. We have had a lot of time to talk, and you are the Devil in the details, smoke that fogs the mind.” Will told the monster pressing itself against the glass, its eagerness for him becoming apparent as finger curled into claws from impatience and want. “When I look at you, all I see it beauty in motion, dark and fathomless as a pool of ink sinking into paper to settle, dry, and mark, moved around by a brush of your own making.”

“Will you let me mark you? Make you mine?” Hannibal asked, his eyes brighter than they had any right to be, lit up from within with an excitement that Will felt himself deep down. It warmed him from tips of toes to top of head. It was nice to be in the company of another who saw him, really saw him for what he truly was. He didn’t need to hide himself here anymore. 

“Only if you let me return the favor.” Will murmured, his lips close enough they grazed the glass. The chapped flesh made raspy sounds against the barrier between them, not that they were heard it over Miggs’s sobbed out screaming and Gideon’s disparaging remarks. Will was pleased to note that Hannibal and him were about the same height, the Chesapeake Ripper only an inch or two taller. Hannibal lips brushed against the glass on the other side of where Will’s own had been, an indirect kiss. Will decided he needed to fix that. 

“How do you feel about Paris?” Hannibal smiled slow and wicked as the door of his cage swung open, pleased that Will was tired of this foreplay.

“That it’s a lazy choice and I expect better from you. Don’t start to disappoint me now.” Will matched the expression with his own, the show of teeth all allure and menace. Just because he was all for this, whatever this was between them, didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for Hannibal.

“Fair enough. Florence it is then.” Hannibal decided, leaning in to finally make contact with Will‘s flesh. The kiss was achingly chaste but they both knew they really didn‘t have time for more. A lot of events had to occur before they reached that sort of point or soft beds to fuck in. Escapes and departures still had to be accomplished but for some reason, Will wasn‘t worried about any of it. He wondered if this was what zealots felt like, wearing invincibility like armor because they believed that a god walked with them, had their back. 

“Tell me, do you believe in love at first sight?” Hannibal sounded genuinely curious, enough so it made Will regard the man openly enough with a quirk of lips.

“You would be a romantic at heart.” Will snorted, shaking his head but allowing Hannibal to catch and tangle their fingers together. “No. I consider the notion trite. I’m more inclined to believe in folie à deux.”

“A madness shared by two?” Hannibal mused, not bothering to deign a glance over at what Gideon was continuing to do to Miggs to get that sort of terrible sound from him. The two left unhindered by their former cellmates, Hannibal casually murdering a guard along the way to steal his uniform. “There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”

“You’re quoting Nietzsche at me? Let’s not start that. It won’t end well for anyone.” Will grunted as he shoved the corpse and Hannibal’s old jumpsuit into a handy closet. He was not above looking though, just as Hannibal was not above flaunting his nude physique. 

“Does love ever end well? The Greeks certainly didn’t think so.” Hannibal pointed out. 

“Is this love? A little sudden, don’t you think?” Will shot back, unable to keep his hands off of Hannibal as he linked their fingers back together. Imprisonment had relieved Will of all his blue collar calluses, earned from being a boat mechanic‘s son. In comparison, Hannibal’s own were finely made things, gracefully curling around his own. 

“Would you deny that there is a connection between us?” Hannibal asked, glancing down at their grip before following up his question with a knowing smirk. 

“No, but call it something other than love. I feel like we will be doomed to fail if you don’t.” Will resisted the urge to roll his eyes and reclaim his hand. They would have to part soon enough to exit this place on their own terms whether other people wanted them to or not. 

“How about devotion then?” Hannibal said as he was passed a spare baton and a couple of scalpels, the likes of which were tucked up his sleeves for safe keeping.

“A calling. We sense our own kind.” Will corrected, taking a moment to straighten their uniforms before they took to the halls. Hannibal followed his example beautifully, mimicking body language and attitude of an underpaid working stiff. They were just another pair of guards making the rounds, ready for their break and some much needed caffeine to stay alert. No one in passing gave them a second look. 

“A yearning to connect with one another. Will you stay with me, by my side?” Hannibal asked as they made their way to the back through employee exits, little places that remained hidden behind the curtain that were seen as ‘safe‘. No one would look for them here, not right now anyway. They had two set of car keys to choose from, the madmen hitting the keypads to see whose vehicle lit up first or was closer. Both were near to one another so Hannibal chose the model he preferred while Will changed out a series of license plates. 

“Until you dissuade me from it. I have to warn you though, I can be a stubborn ass, and oblivious as a stump from time to time.” Will warned as they settled in, Hannibal choosing to be behind the wheel instead of riding shotgun. By the time the alarms sounded, their former prison was miles away. It’s far too late for any sort of justice to find them. Baltimore was Hannibal’s hunting grounds and home for many years. The authorities only have themselves to blame for keeping the monster prisoner in his own backyard. 

“We all have our faults. I’m endeavor to accept who you are if you do the same.” Hannibal said as Will put his seat back and pulled his borrowed guard cap over his eyes. He was unused to seeing sunlight but certainly enjoyed the sensation of it on his skin. He knew that Hannibal already had a plan, if not several already in motion, so he could kick back and relax for now. 

“Yeah, some could see habitual cannibalism as a big one. You’ll forgive me if I skip out on getting blow jobs from you for a while.” Will chuckled, sighing in contentment as the wind from the cracked window and sunlight made his skin tingle. It felt good to be free. 

“Don’t be rude, my dear Will. I find discourteousness unspeakably ugly.” Hannibal tutted. Will could feel the sharp look the cannibal was giving him for putting his feet up on the dash. 

Will lifted up his cap to wink at Hannibal, confidant about his safety with the cannibal and cheeky in his rebuttal to the underlying threat. Chesapeake Ripper huffed out amusement in answer before letting a smile tug his lips free from their taunt misgivings about his unique company, the empath‘s somewhat surreal yet precious to him. It took being caught to discover what he wanted most in the cell next to him. 

“What’s to be done about that?” 

OoOoO

The End  
dun dun dun....


	3. let's keep this motherfucker going

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal have successfully escaped and are now traveling.  
> Not beta read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE FUCKING CRAMPS AND I HATE MY ORGANS. HAVE SOME MERRY MURDER HUSBANDS.

It came as little surprise to find out that Hannibal was richer than God. With high expectations that were always met, Will had come to expect nothing less, and the man’s manner and preferences hinted to a better existence than what Will was used to living. He tried not to resent Hannibal too much for it. It was due to that wealth they were currently road tripping in the Winnebago. That was what Will had deemed the recreational vehicle in his mind when in actuality the mini mansion on wheels was better than most places Will had lived in. Hannibal remained a bit miffed by it, the fully functioning kitchen not up to his standards for some reason. 

On top of a sizable inheritance, Hannibal had done his own elaborate bookkeeping, diverting funds from people the good doctor deemed unworthy of their fortunes into foreign bank accounts the FBI had no clue about. With a preparedness that any Eagle scout would envy, Hannibal even had enough hidden caches of hard cash, clothing, and expertly prepared fake passports and travel documents to go anywhere and do just about anything. 

Hannibal probably regretted giving Will a stack of cash now and letting him decide their destination and method of escape. In hindsight, Will couldn’t say what had motivated him to purchase the RV. Perhaps being stashed underground and surrounded by gray walls and iron bars had something to do with it. Their stay at Baltimore’s State Hospital for the Criminally Insane had certainly been lacking a scenic view. Will assumed he just needed the constant movement, and the control over his destination with an open sky above him. Hannibal’s own needs were incredibly basic, the cannibal simply wanting to stay with his present company. He didn’t care where they went as long as they went together, though Florence and the rest of Europe was definitely on a later agenda. Will had been informed that there was already a villa and false identities waiting for them in Italy. 

Given Hannibal’s thoroughness and predilection for the finer details, it was a small wonder the man had been caught at all. Will voiced as much on the road while driving through Tennessee, the pair on their way to Wisconsin. After some rather eloquent hemming and hawing that Will cut through like a hot knife through bullshit, Hannibal eventually admitted that it had been pride and whimsy that had brought about his own downfall, by a FBI trainee of all people. Miriam Lass was now an agent after making one of the most impressive collars in law enforcement, and all it took was one sketch carelessly left out to do it. Later, Hannibal could come to regret telling Will that story. He was never going to let Hannibal live it down. In Will’s defense, he’d had an excuse at least, having almost died from his brain boiling over. 

The Winnebago, or Dead Cow as Will later lovingly deemed it for the way it steered like a bloated bovine corpse on wheels, made its way easily enough across country. Will did most of the driving while Hannibal puttered around in the back. More often than not though, he kept the driver company along with a good book, reading aloud from it. There was only so much classical Will could appreciate before he started wanted to hit something, but he could happily listen to Hannibal for hours on end and often did. They would converse and enjoy their conversations, but Will was the quiet one in this strange little relationship of theirs. He often only interjected enough to create a new tangent and keep Hannibal talking. 

Their sightseeing mostly consisted of parks and natural wonders. Best things about their destinations was there was very little to no security or surveillance. Most of where they stayed was off the beaten path, the couple spending many a night under a blanket of clearly seen stars. It was ideal in a way, because who the hell expected the Chesapeake Ripper to be boondocking?

In their down time, the pair pursued their own interests when they could. Will fished and made lures while Hannibal sketched and went antique shopping in the little towns chosen for their farmer’s markets where they got their gas and some of their food at. The Dead Cow was soon furnished with lavish decorations and strange little knick knacks that Will would roll his eyes at. Hannibal’s tasted in décor and furniture were not his own, but the RV had been Will’s idea so he let Hannibal do whatever he wanted with the interior. 

They kept relatively low profiles and appearances though Hannibal had tried wearing an old suit of his once. Will had been exiled out of their bedroom for a night for laughing at him. Despite the consequences and the sharp look of warning Hannibal gave him, paisley still made Will giggle from time to time. 

After Wisconsin and all its wealth of cheeses, the pair escaped winter before it has a chance to fully set in, the Dead Cow heading down South and out West to enjoy the dry heat of the Painted Desert and Grand Canyon in Arizona. Will always wanted to see it in person and knew if he didn’t go now, he never would. They ended up taking their time out there, wandering down great stretches of seemingly endless, sun cracked road. Eventually coming to a decision and half sick of rock, Hannibal voiced that he wanted to see the redwoods so they ended up in the Northwest to crane their necks looking up at them. Hannibal preferred the taller ones found in Muir Woods, a park right outside of San Francisco while Will liked the ones big enough to drive your car through. There was something surreal about being inside a living tree though Will couldn’t put his finger on the right wording. 

Little whims and curiosities were their motivational guides for travel. Odds were once he left this country with Hannibal to parts unknown, Will knew he would never step foot on American soil again. They both were aware of it so Hannibal was patient with him. There was talk of Paris after they had their fill of Florence because Hannibal seemed determined to go to France for some reason. Will found out later it is because Hannibal loved the bread there, the water and yeast used to make it specific to its country of origin. Will was quietly grateful that his senses were not as keen as Hannibal. He was positive having a nose like the cannibal would drive him insane….in an entirely different manner than he was used to. 

For all their separate hobbies, Will and Hannibal shared one together. There were two bedrooms in the RV. The largest of the two was their bedroom, an elegant dark space decorated in rich shades of calming blue, and filled to its brim with lush, soft materials and a mattress that could have been made from marshmallows for all Will knew or cared. 

The other room was as sterile as any hospital’s operating room. Their kill room was a near perfect thing, a space filled with medical equipment that did very little healing and helpful handheld power tools that usually didn‘t have culinary applications. All its surfaces was covered in disposable plastic, and its window tinted opaque and permanently sealed. When not in use, it was disguised as a mobile workshop, the men themselves pretending to be free spirited, wandering artists. In a way, it wasn’t too far from the truth, though by the time most of their creations were discovered deep in the woods, desert, or plains they were placed, the local wildlife, weather, and bugs had all taken their expensive tolls, leaving behind very little for the authorities to worry about. Just another missing person turning up in the middle of nowhere the local newspapers would report to be soon forgotten by most. No one would ever make connection in all the killings that spread from one end of the country to the other. 

Most people who met them mistook Hannibal and Will for newlyweds. Hannibal did nothing to dissuade this notion while Will found he lacked the energy for social situations. He didn’t actively dislike people per say, just was more exhausted by them, not caring to put in the time or effort to pretend he was human. Their not, not really, just a pair of monster wearing meat suits. Social butterfly that he was, Hannibal handled most of their interactions with other people, more often than not paying the unofficial host around the communal campfire. Will enjoyed long walks in wherever they are at the time, fishing if the environment and parks allows, and spending time with Hannibal who watched him back with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable if Will were saner and other people. They shared a lot of time doing just that, watching each other, like they can’t believe the other exists. Being stuck in a cell and separated by a wall of concrete for a long period of time could do that to a person though, couch this sort of codependency. 

It’s not love. It is something far more disturbing and grotesque. Will refused to try and label it, define it. Whatever they have was without name, infinite because of this quiet refusal. Their bond was fluid and ever-changing and Will wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Will let Hannibal fuck him because he doesn’t care who tops. With his level of excessive empathy, it hardly mattered, not when he can take on Hannibal’s perceptive and top from the bottom without even really trying. All the mattered was that they make each other feel good, feel, complete, and something in general. Coupling with Hannibal felt natural to Will, not stifling and stilting like it had with everyone else. There was no awkwardness before, during, or afterward, no regrets. When Will was put on his belly and his legs parted, the sensation of Hannibal slipping into him was met with feelings of elation and complete acceptance. It hurt sometimes but in a comforting way. Everything about their lovemaking made Will feel alive. 

Sometimes Hannibal was rough with him, and even that was fine because Will trusts the sadist utterly and completely. He knew he would he tested to his limits and be rewarded for surpassing them. Will appreciated that there would be a long hot bath scented with fragrant herbs and oils afterward, and an even longer massage from a former surgeon who intimately understood every nuance of the human body. After he was made lax and loose, Will could look forward to sleeping like a dead man in an indulgent bed, the mattress softer than anything he has ever slept on before in his life, on top of cool silk sheets that always smelled like vanilla and them. In the morning, there would be a special breakfast made especially for him, something simple he preferred like a protein scramble. Returning to their bedroom. Will would lounge for hours on end while Hannibal drove them to someplace new to waste time in. 

When Will asked, Hannibal let himself be fucked, though it was difficult for him on a so many different level. Will always put Hannibal on his back so he was made to face the empath and stripped down past his bones to what was left of his soul. Will told Hannibal that he likes to look at him like this. Like to watch the play of light, dark, and the ocean of grey that lies between those two points. Will gently fucked Hannibal even when he demanded that Will not. A person or people in Hannibal’s past were not so kind, cruel even to the point of ensuring the birth of a monster, and Will promised Hannibal that he would never be one of those pigs, not like this. 

By then, Hannibal begged Will to be quiet, but he would keep right on talking, whispering sweet words to him, calling the cannibal pet names and other terms of endearment. They were all little kindnesses that no one should ever be able to say to serial killer who tortured and ate people because he could, but Will does. Even more importantly, he meant every word. In the end, Hannibal allowed him to do so. Such bravery should be rewarded after all. 

Despite all his misgivings about being treated so delicately, Hannibal was a narcissist at heart. He can’t resist being the sole focus of that incredible empathy, especially when it cooed at him about his latest sounder, the skill he used to dispatch it. Will always made him come first like this, just so that he could make a show of licking Hannibal’s spent off of his fingers. The sight of it always made Hannibal tremble and lean up so he could taste himself on Will’s lips. 

This little world of theirs, this little life they have made together was not perfect, but it was theirs. Pity the fools who tried to deprive them of it. 

OoOoO

Oh fuck if I know if this is the end. I keep writing this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  
> I bet you thought I was going to write about Italy or France. NOPE. They are fucking driving around in a tricked out RV, looking at fucking nature.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Your comments obsess about how Hannigram became canon for a hot second. Your kudos mop up the blood and tears of the aftermath cause Hannibal doesn't handle rejection well.


End file.
